


Prison On Break

by Lavilin



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Christmas, Fox River, Gen, Short, feel good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 19:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19856857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavilin/pseuds/Lavilin
Summary: Fox River is a place where murder and violence are regular occurances. However, during an untold period of time, none of the convicted felons felt a need to fight each other. Michael Scofield felt this change in the atmosphere, which led to a break from his prison break.





	Prison On Break

December 20th. Overnight, a thick, white carpet had fallen upon Fox River’s yard and rooftops, giving the infamous state penitentiary a surprisingly friendly look. The edges of the buildings seemed less sharp, the barbed wires weren’t visible, and the first ray of sunlight that shone upon the prison was reflected by the untouched snow. Ice crystals sparkled as the cons woke up in their cells that morning, unaware of the weather conditions outside.

And yet, every person in jail seemed less on edge than usual. Even the guards that turned on the lights in the main cell block didn’t shout rudely at the cons who still lay in their beds.

Michael Scofield, as observant as he was, noticed the change in the atmosphere the moment he opened his eyes that morning. His cellmate, Fernando Sucre, was already up and waiting for the cells to open while leaning against the bars. Somewhat surprised by the fact that Sucre was up earlier than he was, Michael rose and sat on the lower bunk bed, putting his feet on the cold floor.

“Morning, Sucre,” he said, announcing his awakening. “You’re up early today.”

Fernando Sucre turned around, smiling. He seemed to be in even better spirits than usual, which Michael had thought to be impossible.

“I’m not up early, fish,” Sucre said, still calling him by the nickname he was given the moment he first set foot in Fox River. “You’ve just been sleeping longer than usual. This is the first time you’ve out-slept me, actually.”

“Well, it is quieter today,” Michael said. “Something I missed?”

“I don’t think so,” Sucre said. “Maybe everyone’s just a little low on energy.”

Michael gazed through the bars of their cell at the other inmates. Some of them were vigorously brushing their teeth, doing energetic morning warm-ups, or simply reading a book.

“No, that’s not it,” he said. “This isn’t a lack of energy, it’s more of a... _different kind_ of energy.”

Sucre shrugged. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about, man,” he said. “Everything seems normal to me.”

“That’s right,” Michael said with a smile. “Normal. But not normal for Fox River.”

Sucre pondered this for a moment, but the cell doors opened before he could respond.

“All inmates head to the dining hall for breakfast!” Brad Bellick announced loudly.

“Even he sounds less stern today...” mumbled Michael as he got up from his bed.

And he was right. Bellick was the most hated guard in the entire penitentiary, and even though his voice still sounded unpleasant today, it wasn’t as spiteful as it usually was. Michael and Fernando stepped out of their cell, as did the other inmates of the block. In one quick glance, Michael could see that even the nastiest of crooks were calm.

He followed his friend Sucre down the stairs, and they ran into the most powerful inmate of Fox River. A tall man who had complete control over the Prison Industries, who could manipulate the guards with his wealth, who had such a high status he made even the most violent of cons back down. He was none other than John Abruzzi, the ruthless Don of the Chicago Mafia. And as they ran into him, a broad grin appeared on his face as he made a little jump to join them in the line to the dining hall.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said cheerfully.

“Morning, John,” Michael responded. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“I certainly am, BUT...” He lowered his voice a little as he leaned in on Michael. “...you have the chance to put me in an even better mood, by, you know, telling me where Fibonacci—”

“Your creativity of trying to make me talk is seriously depleting,” Michael interrupted him.

“Yeah, I know,” Abruzzi said. “I mean, I could go back to cutting off your toes, if that’s what you prefer.”

Michael couldn’t help but flinch a little, to which Abruzzi chuckled and patted him heavily on the back.

“I’m kidding, I promise I won’t be responsible for any more lost body parts,” he said, grinning oddly. Then he was silent for a moment. “Well, not YOUR body parts, anyway.”

Michael and Sucre both frowned at this, to Abruzzi’s amusement. The three of them blended in perfectly with the rest of the inmates, and when they entered the dining hall, they immediately walked to one of the larger tables. Michael observed the other inmates as they each sat down at different tables without fighting. It was peculiar, and what was even more strange was that he seemed to be the only person who noticed it.

Or that’s what he thought, until somebody else approached their table.

“Alackaday, just look at how quiet everyone is today,” said the man who had already taken a seat at the table, placing his plate and his carton of milk in front of him.

Michael looked at him, somewhat annoyed. Theodore Bagwell, or T-Bag, as the other inmates liked to call him, was someone who thoroughly enjoyed getting on everyone’s nerves in the most animalistic of ways. His stood-up hair and his unnerving habit of curling up his tongue between his teeth was enough to make one consider if he was the child of an egocentric rooster and a terrifying snake. Michael didn’t really care about animal references, though, and he couldn’t afford to care. He had other things to worry about.

“So you noticed it too, Theodore,” Michael said, not even greeting him. “You have any clue as to why that is?”

“I certainly do not, pretty,” T-Bag said. “But I can tell you that this weird atmosphere doesn’t suit me at all, nah-ah. So as you can see...” He smiled a nasty smile. “...I’m not affected.”

Abruzzi and Sucre weren’t happy with T-Bag’s arrival. But they also knew that he was part of the team that Michael Scofield was in charge of, so they’d be stuck with him until their operation was complete. Sucre made eye contact with Michael and leaned forward.

“So what’s the plan for today, fish?” he asked quietly. “Are we gonna.... you-know-what in the you-know-where?”

T-Bag sighed deeply and frowned at Sucre.

“If you wanna draw the attention of every con in this room,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval, “then you’re doing a great job. Your secrecy is gon’ get us all busted, _Julio_.”

“I have to agree with Bagwell on this one,” Abruzzi said. “What Sucre meant to say was: are we gonna dig during P.I. today?”

“Woah, woah,” Sucre said, “isn’t that way too forthcoming?”

“It’s fine,” Michael said. “No one’s listening to us. And yes, we are doing that today. Today’s plan also involves a water pipe, a knife, and a flare. I’m gonna need all the help I can get if we wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”

Yes, Michael Scofield’s operation to break out of Fox River was still in progress. What he didn’t know, however, was that the water in the water pipes was frozen, that the flare was wet because of the snow... and that someone actually had been listening to them in the dining hall.

But they would discover that soon enough.


End file.
